My Spartan Hellion (3 page)

Thanos frowned and then his gaze slammed into her.

“Atallus. I would think he has not given up on you as easily as he would have us believe.” He turned to the soldier. “Break down camp and prepare to move out. We need them as allies against Rome. We do not want to fight them over her. Tell the men we will not engage unless they attack.”

“Yes, sir,” the soldier said with a crisp nod and marched out of the tent.

“Come,” Thanos said. “We need to leave now, and, once we’re safely away, I think you need to tell me the entire tale of how you ended up with Atallus because it is now apparent you are no ordinary slave girl.”

* * * *

Lamia soon discovered one of the reasons why the Spartans were heralded as the most formidable military in the world. In minutes they broke down camp and were on the move, their battle horses taking them away from the advancing Athenians under the cover of eve.

Lamia rode with Thanos, her hands clasped around his waist, clutching him tightly as they galloped over the rough terrain. She had no idea for how long or how far they rode, but it felt like dawns, though it probably was just an hour before they came to a stop and set up camp.

Thanos put up his tent first and once she was settled inside he went back to attend to his horse and give his men instructions.

She sat huddled on the makeshift bedding, listening to the sounds of the men moving about camp, as she warmed herself beside the small fire. That was where Thanos found her when he pushed his way inside the tent.

The harsh planes of his handsome face were severe and riotous anger simmered in his eyes as he stared down at her.

“Who are you? I want the truth.”

The accusation in his voice ignited her temper. She had not brought this upon them. He had taken her—not the other way around.

“Do not look at me like that, as if I am some spy or thief. You brought me here, remember? You brought this on—not me.”

“I thought you were a simple Berber slave, but the governor of Athens does not send his personal guard to retrieve just a common slave.” His eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

She glared at him, bristling at the offensive word he’d hurled at her. She was a free woman, not a
slave
. “My name is Lamia, and I am
a simple Berber
woman
from Carthage—”

“I do not believe you—”

“Well, that is your dilemma because I speak the truth,” she snapped. “In Carthage, I worked as the swordsmith apprentice to an old soldier from the Persian army. One sun rising, Atallus came into the shop to purchase weapons from Darius. His beady eyes followed me the entire time.” She shuddered as she remembered that dawn—Atallus’ cloying eyes and the wretched, sinister air that clung to him.

“Later Darius told me Atallus had tried to purchase me from him, but Darius had refused. I was Darius’ apprentice, not his servant or his slave. Darius rescued me from the streets when I was just a little girl and raised me as his own after my parents died in the war. He was like a father to me, the only family I had. Darius could not sell me because he did not own me.” She swiped at the hot tears that had fallen against her will.

In the span of dawns she’d lost everything. She’d been ripped from her home, her entire world destroyed as if it had never existed, and now this man heaped his anger upon her—a man who might have saved her life, but had altered it yet again.

“Two sun risings later, Atallus returned with his soldiers. He burned down our home and kidnapped me. He left Darius to die in that fire,” she choked out, forcing back a sob.

She dipped her head, hating that she cried before him, but she found she couldn’t force herself to look away or blot her tears when he lifted her chin, his eyes now gentle.

“I am sorry.” He spoke softly. “I had no right to cast my anger upon you. You are the only victim in this, and I fear my actions have only added to your turmoil.”

He sighed as he released her chin, and she studied him when he dropped down beside her, his expression pensive. She sensed he had more to tell.

“What is it?” she asked finally.

He shoved a hand through his dark mane, his gaze locking with hers.

“I had every intention of letting you go. Yes, I want a wife, and for a moment I was convinced that woman was you—”

Lamia gaped. “But why? Why would you ever think such a thing? We have never even met—”

“I saw you…in a dream.”

“What do you mean you saw me in a dream?” She breathed out slowly.

“Well, not
you,
exactly. There was a woman who wielded a sword—I never saw her face.” His lips crooked into a small smile. “When I visited the Oracle, she told me my destiny was tied to this woman—a foreign woman whom I would meet on the other end of a sword.” His gaze never once wavered. “She told me I would wed this woman. I thought you were her.”

The Oracles were renowned for their prophecies…their
accuracy
. Her heart thudded faster in her chest. If the Oracle spoke the truth…

She shook her head.
No.
The Oracle must have spoken of someone else. For her destiny was not tied to this man, but to Atallus. Returning to Athens to seek Atallus’ death—
that
was her only destiny.

“You said you had every intention of letting me go,” she interjected, deliberately changing the subject. “I sense that something has now changed.”

He nodded, but he appeared guarded as he spoke. “Atallus sent his men after you under the darkness of eve to kill you
and
us if it came to that. I sense that his humiliation at being bested by you ate at him.” Thanos sighed, frustration heavy in his voice. “But we have no time for these petty squabbles right now. War is coming to the city-states of Greece and we need to be united. I cannot jeopardise our tenuous peace with Athens for anything…or
anyone
.”

She had an idea as to the deeper meaning of his words, and somehow knew his altered plans did not bode well for her and her plans. “What are you truly saying?”

“That if I let you go, Atallus
will
find you and he
will
kill you.”

“So let him try—”

“I cannot. I am honour bound to protect you.”

She shook her head. She was not his property—his responsibility. What did he care if she died trying to kill Atallus?

“But you do not own me. Of your very lips you said you purchased me and that I was free—”

He placed a single finger against her mouth, halting her words. That’s when she glimpsed the weariness in his eyes. This ordeal weighed upon him, and she had no doubt he now regretted freeing her.

“You are free, but since by all accounts I am your last owner, and you are a woman—” He cleared his throat. “I must see to your welfare until you are under the protection of your husband.”

“
What?
”

“If you were my freed
helot
in Sparta I would have arranged for you to be married, but I see no reason to adhere to the laws of my homeland since we are not in Sparta, and you are not truly my slave…”

“But?” she snapped, when he didn’t rush to finish.

“
But
I cannot release you
knowing
that soldiers are after you. I know you wish to return to Athens to seek revenge, but I cannot in good conscience allow you to go, nor can I seek revenge on your behalf so that you shall be safe—at least not now. I simply cannot jeopardise Sparta’s truce with Athens.”

“So you want me to journey to Sparta with you?” she asked, knowing already that he did. He was basically holding her prisoner, because his
honour
demanded it.

“I am bound by the laws of Sparta, and my honour. You will be safe with me, and under my protection. Once the threat from Rome has passed, you will be free to go to seek your revenge.” He shrugged then, a small glimmer lighting up his tired eyes. “Of course, if you were the
wife
of a Greek citizen, charges could then be brought against Atallus for his crimes against you—”

She glared at him. “I see that you find my situation amusing, but, to me, I find none of this humorous—”

“And I did not mean to make light of your situation.” He sobered, or at least his voice grew serious, but Lamia did not mistake the twinkle of amusement still brimming in his eyes. “I was simply explaining your options—all of them.”

He thought this was funny. Her only options were to either go with him to Sparta as his charge or go with him to Sparta as his
wife.

Her nostrils flared in anger. “I will not wed you. And you cannot force me to stay and journey with you to Sparta if I do not wish it so—”

His actions were so quick and quiet that he had her by the arm before she could even gasp. In an instant the man before her was Thanos—the soldier. He trained his steely gaze on her.

“Let me be clear, Lamia. If you try to leave, I will find you. I will not let you endanger this truce—nor will I let you dishonour me. In Sparta a man’s honour is everything. I will not send you to your death, and that is final.”

He released her and stood. Moments later he stormed out of the tent.

She’d angered him—well then, that made two of them.

She glared at the flap of the tent. Thanos may have been the general of the world’s finest army, but she was certain he’d never met an adversary such as her. If he thought she would simply bend to his will and do his bidding because he said so, then he was sorely mistaken. He’d spoken of his honour, but what of hers?

There was no honour in allowing the man who’d killed Darius and kidnapped her to continue to breathe, as if the lives he’d shattered were meaningless. Her destiny was to return to Athens—and she was bound by
her
honour to deliver death to Atallus’ door.

Chapter Three

Lamia felt a gentle nudge against her shoulder. With a sleepy moan, she stretched out her arms and legs, easing the knots in her still sore muscles.

The rasp of the soft wool across her skin jolted her fully awake, and for several moments she was startled to find she was not on the cold, hard earth of Atallus’ floor. She looked about the unfamiliar room, while at the same time the events of yestereve flooded her mind. A sigh trembled out of her. She was no longer Atallus’ prisoner, his slave.

She was safe.

Stifling a yawn, she blinked her eyes as she struggled to adjust to the faint light in the small space. That was when she saw him, and her breath thinned in her chest as her blurred gaze clashed with his.

On this day, his crystalline blue eyes were translucent as the sky as he peered down at her, his raven hair curling around his shoulders. His locks were wet—from a bath, perhaps—and the heavy tendrils clung tightly to his skin. Her attention left his face to travel the length of his body, and she stilled, her breath catching in her throat as she stared at him.

He was nude.

His chest rippled with muscles, meeting the hard planes of his chiselled stomach, while powerful arms, corded with sinew, rested along his sides, perfectly defined. She dipped her gaze lower, swallowing the hard lump in her throat when his manhood stiffened before her eyes, as if awakening from its slumber. His root stood thick and long, jutting out proudly from its nest of coal black hair that coiled around it.

She snapped her wandering gaze back to his face, her cheeks boiling hot with embarrassment.

His lips furled into a wicked grin, his eyes dancing with laughter. “I came to wake you. We depart shortly.” He nodded before turning to leave.

And as he stalked away, she ogled his massive legs and taut ass, admiring how the muscles in his back flexed with each powerful step he took.

She remained transfixed by his muscular back, but her appreciation soon gave way to alarm as sickening horror settled in the pit of her rolling belly. What seemed like hundreds of tiny lines crisscrossed his entire back.

He’d been whipped—repeatedly—and she gulped in dismay, wondering whatever he had done to receive such a horrible punishment.

* * * *

The scorching waves of the desert heat crashed down upon her, choking her, and Lamia wiped at the sweat trickling along her brow as the blistering sun battered them mercilessly. They would travel south towards Sparta—the journey taking at least half a fortnight, if they were lucky.

Already her muscles ached and she released a soft groan as she shifted in the saddle, tensing when her buttocks brushed against Thanos.

“Relax,” he murmured close to her ear, the sound of his deep voice washing over her like a gentle breeze. She shivered as his warm breath feathered across the sensitive skin along the side of her neck, coaxing tiny goosebumps from her heated flesh.

“I am fine,” she gritted out, but she was far from it. Her backside was sore, her back hurt, and her muscles throbbed with pain from holding herself so rigidly.

He chuckled, the husky rumble resonating through her entire body as it seemingly crossed the narrow space between them to enfold her in its intimate warmth.

“I do not bite,” he said with laughter in his voice.

Lamia whipped her head around to glare at him. “I said I was fine.”

By the gods, he was handsome when he smiled. The harsh planes of his face softened and his piercing eyes danced with merriment as he stared down at her. Afraid that her eyes would betray her, she twisted her head back around.

He tightened his hold on his reins, enclosing her in his embrace. And when he leant forward, his chest brushed against her back.

She stifled a moan and her eyelids drifted shut the moment she felt her body hum to life, her nipples budding so tightly that the sensation was almost painful. Yestereve, she’d noticed him as a man—his handsomeness, his virility. Yet at the same time she’d been so consumed by her fate that she’d purposely ignored her awareness of him.

But ever since earlier that dawn in her tent…having seen his wet physique, the droplets of water that clung to his hair-roughened skin… She swallowed at the memory. Thanos was just so blatantly masculine that it was hard not to be affected by him—it was hard to be around him and still pretend that she did not notice, especially when his body was pressed to hers.